And Then There Were None
by Scarlet Hanson
Summary: The nations are dying one by one, and the survivors cling onto not only their lives but all that they hold dear.
1. Chapter 1

"Okay, I want to know _right now_ who the Hell is behind all this!" Alfred glared around the room at his fellow countries, his eyes still red from crying. A wound in his chest was bandaged, but the blood still soaked his shirt.

Germany stood up, shaking with rage and shock. "As do I, friend. Who has done this?"

"Please, understand," China pleaded, "all of us have had attacks in our biggest city. Friends and enemies alike have suffered our fate."

"You don't understand!" Alfred cried, "My president was in there! In the White House, when—" his voice choked with tears, and he did not finish that sentence. "My people are in a panic. The terrorists have bested us, and we don't know how to handle this."

"With all due respect, I don't think this is the work of a terrorist organization," Britain offered, bandages covering his left eye and most of his forehead. "Honestly, I don't think one exists that could cause this much damage to the whole world without being caught or killed."

"He's right," Canada affirmed in a whisper. "All of the things that happened seemed at least somewhat natural."

Germany's hands balled into fists. "Mine was fire. Fire raining down from the sky into Berlin. I wouldn't call that natural."

"Same here," China agreed. "In Beijing, it was as though the sky itself was falling."

America fought to hold back tears. "D.C. was taken by a series of small explosions."

Britain began to cough and gag, falling to his knees and clutching his chest. France rubbed his back, a concerned look on his face. Britain regained his breath and gasped out, "It's the sea. It's rising into my land…"

"We have to do _something_," said Japan, who spoke for the first time in the entire meeting. "We cannot let this keep happening."

"But what is there to do?" America asked. "If it's not a terrorist group, and it's not one of us, then who is doing this?"

Italy had said nothing throughout the meeting. He and Romano were simply on their knees before a window, rosaries in hand, mouths murmuring unheard prayers. Germany and Spain caught sight of the two and, with an exchange of worried glances, went to comfort their friends.

"What now?" America asked everybody. "Do we just wait for the next attacks?"

"I think that is the only option we have," France said glumly.

"We've already lost so many!" America called. "Greece, all of Africa, Switzerland… did none of them matter to you guys?"

"We have no other option!" Britain yelled, and fell into another coughing fit.

Germany, holding Italy in his arms, nodded. "There is nothing else do but wait and see if we can catch who is doing this."

America, defeated, ran out of the room, throwing open the doors as he let the tears fall.

_And then there were eleven._


	2. Chapter 2

"People of our nation…"

"What the bloody hell is he thinking?"

"Shh!"

"My name is Alfred Jones. I am not just an American… I am a nation. I represent the American government, ideologies… and even you, my citizens."

"He's going to cause a riot!" Britain fumed.

"I am immortal, alive through the thoughts and foundations of our beautiful country. I am not alone in this; every country in existence has a person like me, who represents their country.

"Due to the recent events throughout the world, I have seen many of my fellow countries fall. Many are dead with their land and people. And those who remain standing have decided to take a lax standpoint on retaliation. But as your representative, as the conveyor of your messages, I know that America will not go down without a fight."

France stared at the TV, mouth agape. "Wha… what is he doing?"

America closed his eyes and sighed, and then recomposed himself with a look of fierce determination. "We must fight to survive. We must not let whoever is doing this get the best of us. And if we should fall, we fall knowing that we fought to protect what we hold dear! So come, Americans! Let us not wait for another attack on our soil to act. Gather all of your supplies, and prepare for war."

America then walked off the platform, away from the podium, and disappeared from the screen.

All was silent in the secret meeting. Russia sighed, and China cried, "What does he think he is doing? Surely whoever is doing this has heard this! He's dooming himself!"

Germany turned to Canada. "Please talk to Alfred. Being his brother, you may be the only person he'll listen to."

Canada nodded and left. Upon arrival at Alfred's house, he saw the utter destruction of the land. The airport was crowded, masses of people bustling more than usual. Loved ones greeting each other with tears or relief and loss; relief that they had not lost their loved one, and the loss of another loved one. Matthew walked past one woman sobbing to herself, her elementary school age son tugging at her sleeve and asking when Daddy was coming home.

The roads were filled with rioters and looters, women being raped or mugged, men trying to find something to hold onto, children lost in this war of adults. Alfred's own house, once Matthew got there, was ragged and worn. Matthew paid the cab driver, looking the man in the eye.

"Go home," he told the man, foreign to this land of the free and home of the brave. "Go be with your family."

The driver nodded and left. Canada walked up to the beaten-down house and knocked on the door. At first, no one answered.

"Al? It's me! Mattie!" Canada pleaded at the door, knowing his brother was most likely on the brink of insanity. Alfred appeared in the doorway, the door only cracked open to ensure the identity of the speaker.

"_They_ sent you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement; he already knew why Matthew was standing there in his doorway.

Matthew just nodded. "Yes." To his surprise, Alfred opened the door more to let Matthew in. "Thank you," Matthew acknowledged as he stepped in.

The interior of America's house was scarier than its exterior. The walls were falling apart, bottled water and canned food stacked up along them up to the ceiling. There was hardly room to move around in, and as Alfred led his brother into his living room, Matthew noticed a number of guns lying around the house of supplies. Alfred's TV was on a news station, reporting the destruction of Indianapolis, Los Angeles, Houston, and New York City. People running from the fire and explosions, unknowing of their inevitable fate. Matthew felt ice lock around his heart as Alfred sat down on his couch, taking a handgun in hand.

"Don't look so scared," Alfred assured, not looking Canada in the eye. "I won't let anyone get you. I'm heavily armed. You know how to shoot a gun?" When Matthew nodded, Alfred stood up and handed Matthew a rifle. "Here. Safety's on."

"Thanks," Matthew took the rifle, not really for his protection, but for Alfred's ease of mind. Matthew knew that whatever was coming wasn't going to be stopped by a bullet, but didn't bring that argument to Alfred's troubled mind.

Alfred nodded, eyes still glued to the TV, his eyes unseeing. "My children are dying," he breathed, voice shaking. "Hardly any are left. Virginia and Maryland were the first to go, with Washington D.C."

Matthew's eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Indiana's dying. She called me a moment ago, told me to give her regards to Ludwig. Said she loved me so much." He left out one small, breathy laugh. "She even called me 'Daddy'."

Matthew put the rifle against the wall next to him, or rather the tower of canned goods that blocked said wall, and sat down next to Alfred. "It's gonna be okay," Matthew assured.

"I'm not an idiot," Alfred told him. After a long pause, he continued, "I'm glad you're here, Mattie. I want to be with family. I only wish Iggy was here." Tears spilled over, hopes came crashing down, strength was forever lost in the hero of the world.

Matthew hugged his brother around the shoulders. Alfred cried, and sighed, "It's coming. Do you feel it?"

Matthew nodded, knowing that Alfred felt the same thing he did. The imminent danger that had taken hold in Canada's heart, as well as the growing number of wounds appearing on their flesh. The wounds happened more often, and appeared deeper. Matthew knew the end was near, as did Alfred. Matthew stayed calm, knowing America the Brave needed someone strong to hold him until the final hour, until it all came crashing down.

As the danger they had sensed grew closer, the brothers hugged each other tightly. As more cuts appeared, and more cities fell, they gripped each other tighter. They were not going to let each other go, not even as this world was ending. Not even as they fell together, dead where the laid. In death, they were side by side, still supporting each other as brothers do.

_And then there were nine._


	3. Chapter 3

"America, the country that has always exceeded expectation and persevered beyond our imagination, as well as Canada, has fallen today—."

The rest of the news report was not heard, because England screamed when the reporter said those words.

"NO! Alfred, please God, no!" he cried, tears falling as he leaned against the wall. "No, this can't happen, no, _no_, NO!"

"_Mathieu!_" France cried, falling to his knees instead, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as though to keep himself from falling apart. He screamed and cried in French as the other nations just stared at the TV screen. Fire, water, lighting, earthquake, everything imaginable and some things not enveloped the country they had all been so sure would never fall.

Germany shook his head in disbelief. "How could this happen?" As he said it, Italy gripped his arm with a frightened whimper. Germany pulled him close, hiding Italy's eyes from the terrible condition of the world.

England, now crying quietly, had buried his face in his arm, which was leaning on the wall. He then pushed himself off the wall, and proceeded to punch the wall full force. He hit it over and over, not satisfied until he left it as broken as he felt. He left the meeting room, where France still sat sobbing and all the others could only stare, and stopped right outside the door.

"Do you hear me?" He yelled to no one in sight. "Do you wankers hear me? If you're so tough, come and get me! I HAVE NOTHING LEFT! COME AND GET ME, YOU TWATS!" He couldn't stop screaming and crying, hoping for an end to this agony. "I'M RIGH—!" He was cut off by water in his lungs, and he hacked and heaved violently. France rushed out to see him, and as England fell to his hands and knees, France kneeled behind him. England regained his breath, and began sobbing. France pulled him close, expecting him to pull away. But, to his surprise, England clutched him, crying into his chest.

"They took our precious—our…" England couldn't finish, and wailed more. Francis cried silently into England's head, his heart aching from the loss of his former brother. Francis stood Arthur up, and helped him into the meeting room, where China, Japan, Russia, Spain, Germany, and the Italy brothers stood waiting for their return.

Japan spoke up for the first time. "We… we need to go home to our countries. Our people need us in this time." He spoke what they all knew, but none would say. No one wanted to part, knowing that this might be the last time they see each other.

Spain nodded. "We should all go."

Germany walked over to England and France, and held out his hand to the Briton. England took it after a small hesitation, and shook it.

"It was an honor to know you," Germany told him, his face solemn.

Britain found strength in his stoicism. "As it was to know you."

Inside, though, it burned to say these words. They gave up all hope of survival; these words that stung so much felt too much like goodbye.

"It was an honor to know all of you," Germany addressed the rest of the room, looking into each tear-filled pair of eyes. "I believe we will meet again, in this life or not." He nodded to each person there, took Italy by the arm, and left. Romano, too afraid to protest Germany's actions, clung to Spain with one hand, the other hand still wrapped around a rosary.

Antonio patted Romano's hand. "Let's go home." Romano nodded, and the two shook hands with the remaining countries, and rushed out to catch up with Germany and Italy. China, Japan, and Russia left together after a quick and heartfelt goodbye, and at last Francis and Arthur were alone in the meeting room. They dared not move. For some reason, they found themselves unable to part from each other. They stayed in the meeting room, which sat in London.

France finally said. "I'm not leaving you. Not this time. Not ever."

England nodded. "Good. I want you to stay."

They sat and waited for whatever was going to come to come.

A/N: I know the chapters are very short, but they were intended to be. Please bear with meeee! *falls to knees begging*

And can I just say that I have the awesomest readers ever? Seriously, I love you guys. To those who support, you keep my spirits up and my pen moving! And to those who lend constructive criticism, your words only better my work. As my readers, you are my editors and comrades in fandom. I love you guyssssss! You really made my day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Because my readers are so awesome (and persuasive), here's the next chapter! After this, there are only 2 more to go~ This has been strangely fun to write... And the reviews are always loved . So, without further ado, READ ON!**

When Kiku arrived at his house, his country was in a state of panic. From overseas came the news of America's fall, and all of Japan was devastated over the loss of their most popular tourists and exchange students. If Japan managed to survive this massive genocide of countries, he would have no bigger country to trade with. If you wanted to look at it from that perspective.

Kiku turned on the television, immediately seeing a news channel reporting the fall of Great Britain and France. Arthur must have drowned, and the newscasters weren't sure what happened to France. All they knew was that reporters in Spain had called to tell them the news.

_And then there were seven._

"Zetsubouteki desune?" he murmured to his small dog, petting him gently as he slept. He then looked over at the pictures on his mantel, each one bringing tears to his eyes. Some were old and grainy, others new and high-quality. Each told of his strange relations to the foreign world. The oldest was of him, Italy, and Germany, all in uniform and signing the alliance that would bring world war two. Another was of America right after the war, during occupation. Japan had grown a liking to him then. Two more that were just as old were pictures of him with Britain and France, about the same time period. There were some more with Britain and America, with whom he had become great friends. One picture taken more recently, about the 1980s, was of him and Turkey. The most recent pictures, however, are what pushed him over the edge.

"Heracles…" he murmured, tears spilling over his eyes. He took a picture of him and the Greek standing in front of Tokyo Tower and held it to his heart. For the first time in his life, he was so happy that he had opened his gates to the world. The other nations, no matter how obnoxious and greedy they were, had become his closest friends in the world.

He laughed to himself once. "This simply won't do," he said to himself in Japanese. He wiped his eyes and looked at Greece in the photo, as though addressing him. "I can't be making such a spectacle of myself." He put the picture back in its place, smiling wanly as he did.

He went into another room, where he stored all of his possessions from the time when he was ruled by the samurai. His suit of armor, which he rarely wore even back then, stood on its stand and next to it was his collection of katana. He went to them, remembering the instability of the time. However the sense of foreboding he felt now made those times look like a picnic under the sakura trees in spring.

He took the second largest katana, which was about the length of his arm, and appraised it. It was made by the highest-quality smith of the time, and even with years of misuse shined and could cut well. He examined the blade for a while, then sheathed it once more. He kept it with him, and went to his bathroom.

After a bath, he dressed himself in a kimono, abandoning his western clothes. If he was going to die, he would die with the honor that only the Japanese could truly understand.

He went to a temple that was near his home, and wasn't surprised to find many people there, all wearing kimono. Even the youth that so obsessed over western fads were in the traditional robe, paying their respects to their ancestors. Japan threw a coin into the offering box, clapped his hands together, and bowed as he prayed to the ancestors of everyone. He had no ancestors of his own, so he prayed to the people.

Japan went home, just as all his people did. If he had been watching the news, he would have seen the mass suicides that were happening along the country. He wasn't watching, though. He instead had gone back into his living room, lit some incense, and kneeled on the floor. A candid photo of Heracles sat on the table in front of him. He unsheathed his katana once more, resolve strengthening in his heart. As he lifted the sword above his head, he murmured one last phrase.

"Daisuki… minna-san."

He then brought the sword down, into his stomach. Blood rushed out, pain filling his body for a few moments before he went numb. He pulled the sword out, collapsing on his side. He was growing colder due to blood loss, but he did not step into the light until his great nation was no more. Heracles smiled at him, taking his hand and guiding him into the afterlife.

_And then there were six._

**Yes, I just made Japan commit seppuku. But since he's a nation, he kinda has to wait till he actually dies. But he died with honor! Next chapter alrady written, will be put up in a couple days. Next time, we see China, Russia, and a glimpse of General Winter. Please look forward to it.**


	5. Chapter 5

When China arrived at his home, he already knew the bad news. He didn't have to be told. Even when his boss called to tell him that Japan had fallen to multiple tsunamis and earthquakes, as well as massive suicides across the nation. China gripped the phone, whispering that he understood before hanging up the phone with lips pressed together. His hands went to his lower back, which was aching in this time of stress. Then one hand gripped his chest on its own, wrenching at his heart as though to tear it out.

"Aiyah," China sighed to himself. "I shouldn't feel this way about someone who forsook me."

He shook his head at himself, and let his hair down. He straightened himself, and stretched his arms. "I don't recall inviting you over," he said to the wall.

Silence greeted him. He turned around, stomped over to the window, and threw it open. Russia was there, hiding under the window sill and attempting to shield himself in the bushes. "I've known you were there," China said proudly, a bit condescending.

"Ah? Sorry~" Russia said in his sweetest voice. "I just want to be with my Yao before we all die~"

Despite his chilling words, China rolled his eyes. "Just get in. You look silly hiding in the bushes."

Russia started climbing in the window. Despite China's yells and commands to use the door, Russia continued inside through the window.

"Did you hear?" Russia asked, his voice still childish and cheerful. China didn't have to ask what he was referring to.

"I felt it." China's face clouded over with sadness. "I didn't need to be told."

And just when China was just about to let the tears spill over, he was picked up. "Huuuuuuug!" Russia sang as he picked up the Chinese man from behind into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey! Put me down right now!" China commanded, squirming in the man's grasp.

Russia held onto China, even rocking him back and forth. "But Yao is all I have left~ Everyone else left me~"

China stopped moving, realizing how Russia must feel. He _had_ just lost his sisters, just like China had lost his siblings. Russia put him down after a few seconds, and Russia just continued to smile at him. "Aiyah… you're the only friend I've got left," China admitted.

Russia's face lit up like a child's upon realization of summer. "Yao is my friend, da?"

China nodded solemnly, not putting his thoughts into words. To be honest, he was worried about who he would lose next, and how long it would be. Or even, how long it would be until _he_ was lost…

He was brought out of his thoughts by a hand on his head, and looked up to see a smiling Russia. He knew the giant nation was in great pain and was hiding it with that smile.

"Ivan…"

"Hmm?"

China took Russia's hand off his hand. "Aiyah! Your hand is freezing!"

Russia laughed. "I'm always cold, da?"

China made a face at him before turning to walk away. He then felt a stinging in his arm and rubbed it. It didn't go away; in fact, the pain got worse. He felt a bit of panic in the back of his head, but focused on keeping it back.

"Yao?" Russia began, but China ignored him. China pulled back the sleeve of his shirt to look at the area that was in pain. It was a burning pain now, and when he saw his arm it was red, almost as if had been burned.

"No… not again…" he said to himself in horror. He rushed to put it under cold water, but the stream did not stop the burning.

"Yao? What's wrong?" Russia asked like a worried child. He was once again ignored.

China's skin began to blister and open, and China let out a cry of pain. He turned off the water to search for bandages under the sink. Then he felt the burn again.

This time in his left leg.

"N-no!" China yelled, falling to the floor. "No… not in more than one place!"

Russia fell to his knees, holding the now screaming China in his arms. "Sh, Yao… shh…" He tried to comfort the man.

China continued screaming as the burns spread, ripping off his shirt in an attempt to cool himself down. His shirt in rags on the floor, it did no good. The burning continued. China just screamed and screamed, wishing for it all to end. Outside, Russia could see the sky was aflame, orange and red dancing about the sky in a death jig. After a few minutes, China's body fell limp in his arms and China was just a panting mess, his skin burned and blistered, cracked open in several places.

"I…Ivan…"

"I am here, my gosling."

"I… I can see… his face… I… hear…"

"What is he saying, gosling?"

"…mad… so… angry…" The light left China's eyes as his panting stopped, a short exhale escaping his lips. It was as though life had been ripped from his body suddenly with no warning.

Russia closed his comrade's eyes and laid him down on the floor. He took a moment to let out a sigh, and removed his gloves with much difficulty. After his gloves were off, he could see purple and black spots on his hands. He smiled wanly, and looked out to the sky.

"I wonder if raw fire would warm me up a bit…" he wondered to himself.

"You know it's no use."

"Ah! General~"

"You know why I'm here."

"Of course~. But I'm confused. Didn't you say you would protect me?"

General Winter gave Ivan a hard look tinged with sadness. "I am only the General. He is my Commander-in-Chief. I cannot disobey him."

"Of course not~" Russia looked out to the sky and asked, "Do you think there are sunflowers in heaven?"

General Winter nodded, placing his hand on Russia's shoulder and looking at the sky with him. "Lots of them."

Russia giggled. "You know, it's quite fitting that you would be the one to kill me. Yao dies by fire, and I by ice. It's as though we were destined for one another~" Russia began to shiver as purple spots formed on his face. "Thank you, General. Thanks to you, I lived a nice long life, and learned to be very strong."

The General nodded, dissipating.

Russia just stared out the window until death took him on his feet and he fell over in final defeat.

_And then there were four._

* * *

><p><strong>So hopefully you guys are getting the gist of what's happening? No? Well in the next and final chapter, you'll find out~<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**So, quick recap. Some people are confused as to how the countries have died. America and Canada went by bombings not caused by humans or nations. England was swallowed up by the sea. France, no one knows. I was out of ideas. . Japan went by tsunamis, earthquakes, and suicides. Fire rained from the sky in China. Russia was frozen to death by General Winter, on orders from his Commander-in-Chief. Who is the Commander? You're about to find out…. **

Romano frantically searched the airport for his brother, Spain in tow behind him. _Shit, shit, shit!_ How could he have lost Veneziano? They had gotten separated in the chaos of the airport. Italians worldwide flooded the country to reunite with loved ones, their strong sense of family apparent in this time of crisis.

Speaking of family, Romano still couldn't find his damn brother! Where was he?

Then he heard the last voice he ever thought would sound so beautiful.

Potato bastard had begun yelling in German, the Italian civilians shrinking from his size and voice. They made way for him and Veneziano, who was holding onto his arm for dear life with tears in his eyes. When Germany made eye contact with Romano, he rushed over, Veneziano running from Germany's side to embrace Romano. Romano wasn't sure what to do, as he was sure Veneziano would never leave the German's side for him.

"Fratello!" Italy cried, gripping his brother tightly and crying loudly.

Romano just stood there for a moment, then shoved his brother off him. "Che! Be strong, Veneziano!" He glared at Germany. "Didn't you teach him anything, potato bastard?"

Germany said nothing, only returning the stare with his own weary glance. He knew he was in big trouble with his boss for not being in Germany, but it didn't even really matter. Germany knew that, in all actuality, he probably didn't have much time to live anyway. Romano knew this as well, but the two kept the heartbreaking news from their airheaded lovers. For that courtesy, Romano thanked Germany internally.

Veneziano instinctively reached for Germany, who took him quickly into a tight hug. Veneziano buried his face into Germany's chest, whimpering softly as Germany stroked his hair. Spain, worried about the circumstances they were in, took Romano's hand.

"We should go home," he suggested. To his surprise, Romano let Spain keep his hand and nodded.

Upon arriving at the Italys' house, Spain, Romano, and Veneziano all pulled rosaries out of their coat pockets and thumbed them nervously, their lips occasionally murmuring prayers. Germany, as a Lutheran, let them pray in peace as he looked at the ground with his hands in his pockets. He looked at the backs of their heads, each one bent in prayer and Veneziano's slightly shaking. Germany bit his lip anxiously, as if to stop his lips from planting a reassuring kiss on his lover's head. He instead straightened as they looked up and crossed themselves, murmuring "Amen."

Italy stood up immediately, rushing to Germany and gripping him in a desperate hug. Germany gently wrapped his arms around the small man, his face leaning into Veneziano's hair. He felt his other half shaking, and gripped him tighter. Romano and Spain stood as well, Spain's hand searching for Romano's. Romano took it, grasping it tightly. He bit his lip as well as he looked Germany in the eye once more. Germany's face remained still, other than for the almost unnoticeable wince. Romano let his lip free from his teeth to press his lips together in concern.

_Don't go before him, bastard._

Germany felt the stabbing pain in his side, but he had been through worse torture. This wasn't going to stop him from holding his lover until the very end. Italy steadily slowed his shaking until it halted altogether.

"Germany?" his voice pleaded, his face turning up from the larger nation's neck to look him in the eye.

"Yes, what is it?"

Italy bit his lip. "This…" A tear fell from his eye and he looked down for a moment, sniffing. He looked back into his favorite crystal blue eyes, his amber orbs filled with tears and reflecting sadness, bittersweet goodbye. "This… is how…. I want to die…"

Germany's face scrunched as he returned the gaze. He hid his shock and heartache with concern. "We're not going to die, Italy—."

"Liar," Italy's child-like voice accused, Italy's visage crumpling as more tears fell.

Spain sang, "Don't cry, Ita-chan! We're going to live a long, long life, all together! Right, Romano?" He turned his brightly smiling face to his lover, who was unsuccessfully masking his grief with confidence and annoyance.

"O-of course we are! Idiot!" Spain caught the hesitance, and his face fell.

Italy, ignoring them, pressed on in his conversation. He gripped Germany's back, staring straight into his lover's eyes. "I… know I'm clumsy and I do a lot of dumb things…. But I know they're all gone… I feel it too." He looked down again, sobbing.

Germany just stood speechless, staring at the top of Italy's brunette locks with his mouth agape. Then, he pulled Italy close to him, crushing him with all his strength. He buried his nose into his Italian lover's hair. Veneziano replied by wrapping his arms around the blonde's neck, crying softly.

Words failed Romano as he simply looked at the sight, glad for once that Germany had stepped into his brother's life. He was just glad Italy had someone to cling to, to hold until his last breath. And, on that note, he looked over at Spain, who was staring at the ground with a focused expression. He was searching for the other's presence. When he found no one, he opened his mouth, closed it, and crushed his eyelids closed. His lips began to quiver and he just stood there. Romano squeezed his hand reassuringly, and Spain pulled him into a tight embrace.

At that moment, Romano felt his lungs collapse as the Roman coliseum fell. He gripped Spain, his knees giving out.  
>"R-Romano!" Spain cried, cradling Romano in his arms.<p>

Romano tried to breathe, but his lungs did not right themselves for him. He began to shake, his body convulsing in a desperate plead for air. Italy cried his name, and his wide eyes flew to him. He mouthed his brother's name, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's when removed from water. Spain kneeled, Romano still in his arms.

"No… Romano!" he screamed, begging the nation to hold on. Romano gripped Spain's shirt, looking him in the eye. Spain's emeralds…. That was what Romano wanted his last sight to be. And it was, as he pierced into Spain's soul and let go of his own. His eyes still eerily open, his head fell back as his muscles relaxed. His hand fell from Spain's shirt, and Spain just stared as he watched his lover die.

_And then there were three._

Italy shook as he watched the scene before him, a screaming sob escaping his throat as Romano died. Germany let go of Italy as he rushed over to his brother. Italy fell to his knees at Romano's side, crying and taking the body in his arms. He rocked Romano's corpse back and forth as he shouted and pleaded and cried for Romano's return. Spain let Italy take the body as a tear fell from his cheek onto his deceased lover's shirt. Spain stood, his mouth agape as more tears fell. His hand flew up to clutch his chest, a cry breaking free from his throat.

Germany just stood there, unsure what to do. He settled for taking to his knees beside Italy, and Italy sobbed as Germany wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Germany extended a hand to close Romano's eyes, the nation's face peaceful in death. Italy, still crying, lowered the body to the floor and began to pray again. Germany held his lover as the small man murmured frantically, gasping for air through sobs and prayers. This continued for about a minute, until a sickening smashing noise outside rendered the pair silent. The two looked at one another, Italy's face still twisted with shock and grief and Germany's remaining stoic. Germany then looked around the room and felt ice lock around his heart—Spain was gone.

Germany stood and strode to the window, already knowing what he was about to see. He approached the window closest to the source of the sound and peered outside. Spain lied on the pavement outside, his body sprawled and contorted. He had jumped from the top floor. Germany's hand flew up to his mouth.

"G—Germany? I…Is Spain nii-chan…?" Italy murmured from the other side of the room.

"Ja," Germany answered, turning to face Italy. "He's with your brother now."

_And then there were two._

Tears filled Italy's eyes, and he looked down at his brother. Germany closed the blinds to the window and rejoined his lover. Upon kneeling beside Italy, he took Italy's crying face into his shoulder.

"There's no hope…" Italy sobbed.

Germany's lips tightened. He did not disagree, but bit his lip at Italy's cynicism. "Why do you say that?"

"God spoke to me last night," Italy sobbed, clutching his rosary once more. "He… he's so mad at us, Germany. At our people."

Germany stroked Italy's hair. "Shh, Liebling, it was just a dream."

Italy shook his head, but did not speak. He merely cried into Germany's broad shoulder as he lost hope in his own life. Germany held him, not sure what to say.

Finally, Italy spoke once more. "G-Germany?"

"Yes, Italy?" Germany planted a kiss on Italy's forehead.

"I…I'm glad it's ending like this."

"Italy, this isn't the end!" Germany took Italy's shoulders in hand to look the small nation in the eye. "Why do you keep talking like we're going to die?"

Italy gave him a small smile. "S—silly Germany. Don't you see? We're going to die together… And all the others are waiting for us…" Italy looked down as he continued, "And… Germany and I can be together in heaven forever. And…" Italy let out a sob. "We don't have to fight anymore!"

Germany's face softened as Italy opened up to him, clutching the boy to his chest. "Oh, Italy…" He let out a shaky breath and Italy wrapped his arms around his blonde lover.

"It's time," Italy said, hope filling his voice. "Can you feel it, Germany?"

Germany nodded, the pain in his heart not just from the thought of losing Italy. His left arm was in pain, and he winced from the pain shooting through his body.

Italy took Germany's face in his hands, his amber eyes meeting Germany's crystal blue. "I'm… I'm so glad we got to live our lives together."

"I wish we could have more time," Germany admitted, his face becoming sad.

Italy gave him a small laugh and a kiss on the nose. "Remember the girl in the mint green dress…" he hinted, his smile wan.

Germany just stared at him for a moment, then took a sharp intake of breath. "Y-you—!" He was cut off by the sudden pain in his chest, which made him crumple in agony. He let out a cry of pain, and Italy took him in his arms.

"Shh, Germany… It will be over soon…" Italy cooed as Germany clawed at his own chest. He turned Germany to lay in his lap, holding him as the man tried to rip out his own heart to stop the pain. After a few minutes, Germany slowed his convulsions, looking Italy in the eye with all the pain he felt.

Italy brushed a hand through Germany's hair. "It's okay, Holy Rome. I'll be with you soon." He placed a hand on Germany's brow as Germany's eyes closed in pain. He winced a few times, Italy shushing him like a mother with her child. Germany gave one last wince, and his face evened out into a peaceful blankness.

_And then there was one._

Italy smiled down at him, and pulled out his rosary once more. He placed it between his intertwined hands, bent his head, and began to speak.

"Dear Lord,

"First, thank you for the wonderful life I have been given. I've lived so much longer than all the humans, and I've had your kind and loving hand guiding me all along. This life has been filled with wonderful food, and nice friends, and someone I've loved since I was a child! And I was blessed enough to have him love me back! Isn't that great?"

Italy's tone grew sad as he continued. "But… I just have one more favor to ask of you. I know you are mad at my people, and at everyone's people, and that's why everyone had to die. But, can I have this one last wish granted?" He looked up to the sky, a tear falling from his smiling face. "Can… can You please let me die now, beside my fratello and my true love?" Italy crossed himself. "Amen."

He looked down at the frozen face of his lover, and placed one last kiss upon his favorite lips. He laid down next to Germany, nestling his face into his deceased lover's neck, and smiled to himself.

"Take me to Grandpa Rome, fratello, and my Germany." He breathed his last breath right there, the smile never leaving his face as the last inhabitants of the world took their dying breaths. And there Italy would forever remain, in the arms of the man he had always loved, his soul rising to meet the others in the Kingdom of Heaven. And his earthly body never stopped smiling.

After all, he had had a very good life.

_And then... there were none._

**A/N: O.M.F.G. I CANNOT believe it's over! I… I don't know what to do now! ;A; I want to thank all my lovely readers, whose reviews and support have pushed me to work my ass off and finish this story. And I want to especially thank my Italy, foREVerhaunting me, for reviewing every chapter and providing me with support online and offline. Ich liebe dich!**

** I hope you guys enjoyed it. It was such a fun experience, actually finishing a story. I hope I get to feel this way again soon!**

** Signing out, Scarlet.**


	7. Epilogue

**A/N: Decided on a whim to reread some old fanfiction. Had some inspiration, and felt I should post it up for the peeps who wanted an epilogue. Thanks again, guys!**

"Italy… Little Feli…"

Italy opened his eyes to see nothing but white all around him. Was… was he dead? Was it all over? Taking in a deep breath, he realized he was lying flat on his back, upon some surface. Sitting up quickly, Italy snapped his head around, looking for Germany. Germany was just there, he was just holding him, where could he have gone? Instead he saw before him a tall figure, in a familiar red cloak and battle skirt.

"G-….Grandpa Rome?" Tears welled up in his eyes as he saw his grandfather for the first time in so many years.

Rome responded by kneeling down with a warm smile and open arms. "Welcome home, Italy. I've waited a long time."

With a single sob, Italy threw himself at his grandfather, embracing him tightly. Rome held him there as he cried, shushing him softly as he stroked his hair. "It's okay," Rome cooed, "I'm here. I've got you."

"Grandpa Rome, they're all… they all…" Italy choked on his sobs, gripping his grandfather even tighter.

"I know," Rome whispered softly. "You are, too. Everyone's here."

Italy sniffled, finally beginning to calm down. "E-everyone?"

Rome nodded, pulling Italy up to his feet and looking him in the eye. "It's all over now. Everybody's pain is over. We're all together now." Rome cupped his grandson's face, smiling at him knowingly as only parents can. "We all waited for you. There's someone who wants to talk to you." He looked past Italy, over his shoulder. Italy followed his gaze, turning around to meet a crystal blue gaze about 50 feet away.

He was tall, with blonde hair slicked back. That stern face was all too familiar, the hard eyes softened by a mix of love and relief. The black cloak concealed the rest of his clothes, falling to the floor. A smile turned his normally strict, rigid features into a comforting visage, one Italy had waited many years to see again.

"H-Holy Rome?" The name was barely a whisper, barely audible over the overwhelming silence.

Holy Rome laughed once. "You could call me that. I go by another name nowadays." He opened his arms, and the cloak parted to reveal the familiar forest green military uniform.

And in this moment, so many emotions ran through Italy's body. Shock, happiness, relief, closure… and love most of all. Breaking into a full sprint, Italy's tears renewed. Germany took a few swift steps forward to meet him halfway, the two colliding together in a fierce and passionate kiss. Italy kissed his lips, his cheeks, all over his face, crying all the while and murmuring his name between each kiss. When he got to the point of hysterics, Germany gently pulled his face away, cupping Italy's face to make him meet his gaze.

"It's me," he said quietly, brushing a piece of hair from Italy's face and planting a tender kiss upon his lips. "I'm here. It's going to be okay."

Italy smiled and wiped his eyes. "You…. You remember…?"

With a knowing smile and a single nod, Germany answered, "Everything."

"I'm… I'm so glad!" Italy laughed quietly, trying unsuccessfully to stop crying. Germany wiped away some tears and pulled him closely into a hug.

"It's okay, Italy, you can stop crying." Germany kissed the top of his head. "It's time to go now."

"G-go?" Italy looked up into Germany's eyes. "Where?"

"Where all the others went. This is just a waiting place."

Italy nodded, smiling a bit. "To heaven?"

"Only one way to find out." Germany looked up to Rome, who had now walked up to stand next to Italy. "Are you ready?"

"As always." Rome rested a hand on Italy's shoulder. "Let us go, my little Feli. The rest are waiting for us there."

"Okay." Italy took his grandfather in one hand and his lover in the other. "Let's go meet the others! I would hate to make Germany late~!"

The blink of an eye changed the white void into a grassy field, with a pale blue sky sprinkled with cottonball clouds. Every nation, some Italy had never even met, was there, surrounding Italy. They all formed a large circle around the three newcomers, clapping and cheering for them as Italy smiled at them all. All the families were back together, holding each other as they cheered. Italy scanned the crowd, and upon seeing his brother ran into Romano's arms. Spain stood by, laughing cheerfully as everyone continued to shout their congratulations and victory.

And as this all happened, Japan smiled to himself, leaning over to whisper into Greece's ear.

"If you drew a circle right now, it would make the earth," he murmured thoughtfully.

Nodding quietly and humming in agreement, Greece took his hand.

_And then, all were one._


End file.
